The Old Elm Tree 



AND OTHER POEMS 



By MATILDA W. WORTMAN 



PASADENA, CALIFORNIA 
1903 



THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, J 

Two Copies Receivee I 

JUL 28 1903 

Copyught Entry 
CLASS O^ XXc Ne. 



COPY 3. 



-J 



,0lfe °' 



COPYRIGHTED 1903 
BY MRS. MATILDA W WORTMAN 



PRESS OF J. W. HART, PASADENA 



• • • « * *•• • ••• »♦- • 4 » 



ZU Old €lm Cm 

(at my childhood home.) 

When memory reverts to the scenes of my childhood, 

Two objects so often in fancy I see, 
Through winter and summer they stood there together, 

The tree by the spring, or the spring by the tree. 
Over and over we gathered the cowslips, 

And bright willow katkins on the old grassy lea, 
Then returned with our treasurers, so warm and so weary, 

To rest in the shade of the Old Elm Tree. 

No frost ever curdled that bright sparkling water 

When the heart of the roses were frozen to die, 
And the tree only shaking its great massy branches, 

Would scatter the snowflakes that came from the sky, 
Over and over we drank of that water, 

No need had we for an "iron-bound pail," 
So bright and so sparkling it lay in its beauty, 

We quaffed from the old cup that hung on the nail. 

When the storm and lightning came down in their fury 
We sometimes feared for the fate of the tree, 



Yet 'twas only the stronger, when storms had passed over, 
But shaking the great drops its branches to free. 

Over and over the birds dipped their plumage 

In the clear pebbly rivelet that ran toward the lea, 

Then shook off the water and rose to the branches, 
To warble their notes in the Old Elm Tree. 

When a child I have seen the men come from the haying, 

And watched them as they to the cool spring drew near, 
Then smiled as one earnestly said to my father, 

"My friend : I mean you have good water here." 
Over and over they drank of that fountain, 

"The best and the purest that nature can yield," 
Then refreshed in the shade of the old tree beside it, 

Returned with good cheer to their v/ork in the field. 

And now, far away from that dear habitation, 

Though held now by strangers, in fancy I see 
The old grassy meadow, the cowslips and willows, 

And the warbling birds in the Old Elm Tree. 
Over and over they come to my vision, 

In fancy the scenes of that old grassy vale 
But when thirsty and weary, could but one be reacted, 

Let me drink from the old cup that hung on the nail 



ON Cwo Beggars 

A beggar once lay at a rich man's gate, 

There was naught he could do, but watch and wait; 

In the rich man's dainties he had no share, 

But fain would have eaten the crumbs that were there 

The rich man in purple went and came, 

With no kindly thought for the poor or the lame, 

But the dogs showed more pity, and with instinct rare, 

Came and licked his sores, with the tenderest care. 

He was heir to a will, in a beautiful land, 
But waited anon for his Father's command, 
To come to his home, and his legacy claim, 
For to do His will, was his highest aim. 

At length he was destined no longer to roam, 
His Father sent escorts to carry him home; 
A loving and tender angel band 
Was his convoy to that blissful land. 

The rich man went to his reward, 
And though 'twas a place for worse spirits prepared, 
He lived so much like them, he must needs go there, 
And for evermore their companionship share. 

Then he begged that the other might have permission, 
To come from those beautiful fields elisian 



To do him service. But no — twas seen 
An impassable barrier lay between. 

He had his good things, enough and to spare, 
In his costly living he had taken no care, 
But for that life of splendor and ease; 
And laid up no treasure in the land of bliss. 

Twere better he had laid up a treasure there, 
Though in life he might have a beggar's fare ; 
Than in after life, his destiny be 
A beggar through all eternity. 



Baby's Smiles 

Is there nought in the smiles of the baby ? 

We will answer you bye and bye, 
In her winsome, bright good morning, 

With a twinkle in her eye ? 
As the sunny rays of springtime 

The lonely hours beguile, 
Chasing the shadows before them, 

Ev'n so is the baby's smile. 

As I sat by my window thinking, 

On my brow a shade of care ; 
First the past and then to the future, 

My thoughts were wont to explore ; 



Still I heard but the click of my needles 

As I plied my knitting with care, 
Till at length something drew my attention 

A slight little rustle somewhere. 

And there mid the bed of roses, 

A pleasing sight met my view : 
Two upturned cheeks that were fairer, 

And two eyes of azure hue. 
"Peep, Grandma, peep," she said smilling, 

As she looked up to peep at me, 
With smiles her sweet face was radieht, 

No fairer sight now I could see. 

She peeped and played through the window, 

Her smile had quite broken the spell, 
For where were the care and the shadow ? 

Ah ! where was the knitting as well ? 
Speak gently, tired ones, to the babies, 

Many babies smile down from above, 
Though they cannot be seen through the tear-mists, 

Yet of such is the kingdom of love, 

Resurrection 

If a man die, shall he again arise ? 

(Is a question often asked by sage and seer,) 
Or as a leaf before a zephyr flies, 

Abide forever in the grave so drear ? 



Philosophers and scientists to theorize may come, 
Ask them is this the end, forever here ? 

And as they view in turn the vaulted tomb, 
Alas! the hollow echo answers, here. 

A tree when once cut down, will sprout again, 
And grass the tender spear put forth anon. 

But man, the masterpiece of God's own hand, 
Shall he be left for aye to moulder on ? 

Ah, come, behold on yonder mountain's brow, 
A blood-stained cross uplifted high : 

Has death forever claimed his victim now ? 
Shall a man rise again, if once he die ? 

Behold yon garden fair, in sight of calvary, 
In it a tomb, and that with stone well barred; 

On that huge stone the Roman seal we see, 
And pacing back and forth, the Roman guard. 

Ah, but what power hath Roman seal or guard, 
Though all combine to help death hold his prey, 

They flee before the Almighty word, 
As one might brush a gossamer away. 

And lo ! the angels' words good tidings bring, 
"He is not here," the open grave we see; 

Where death, oh! where is now thy sting ? 

And "boasting grave," where now thy victory? 



Jl treasure Gone 

(to my children in their bereavement) 

One autumn morn a treasure dear, 

To our new home was given, 
'Twas like a sunbeam bright and clear, 
With radiance sweet, our way to cheer, 
Of such 'tis said is heaven. 

So sweetly all along our way, 

'Twas ever on us smiling, 
Not long the gloomy hour could stay, 
'Twould chase all loneliness away, 

Each weary hour beguiling. 

Autumn has come again, but lo ! 

Our hearts are sad and weeping, 
For yonder where the daisies grow, 
And autumn zephyrs come and go, 

Our little treasure 's sleeping. 

'Twas only lent, kind voices say, 
And while we weep in sadness, 
'Tis shining on, where all is day, 
Where God has wiped the tears away, 
And all is joy and gladness. 



We miss him, yes, our treasure dear, 

At morning noon and evening, 
And almost breathe his name in prayer, 
Asking for him our Father's care, 
His absence scarce believing. 

But faith would rise and wipe the tears, 

That o'er our cheeks are coursing, 
And bid us view that happy morn, 
When we our loved ones all shall join, 
And meet them with rejoicing. 

Methinks I hear in yonder choir, 

As the heavenly song is raising, 
As each one strikes his golden lyre, 
And fain would swell the chorus higher, 
Another sweet voice praising. 

Oh, may our hearts be all in tune, 

As on the day is moving, 
That we may in the "saints sweet home, 
Beyond all tempests darkening gloom, 

Join the sweet Hallelujah ! 



10 



ClK Unhanging Password 

I met a joyous child at play 

And asked can you the secret tell ? 
The password to the land of day ? 

"Oh, yes," he said, "I know it well, 
Tis Jesus, and when He was here, 

He bade them let the children come, 
Of such said He that heav'nly sphere, 

Of such my kingdom and my home." 

Still farther on a thoughtful boy, 

Ten springs perchance had fanned his brow 
Pray! to the pearly gates of joy, 

Can you the password tell me now ? 
He answered, "yes, 'tis Jesus still, 

Today as yesterday 'twill be, 
And as I climb the heav'nly hill, 

Those gates are still ajar for me." 

On further still on life's rough way, 

Was one of middle age or more ; 
Does the same word hold good today, 

The password to the shining shore ? 
"Yes, Jesus and the 'hope' we have, 

Will anchor when the billows roar, 
Will guide us o'er the troubled wave, 

And land us safe, to die no more." 



11 



A pilgrim next, with staff in hand, 

His form was bent, his locks were gray; 
By faith he sees the promised land, 

Watching his guide-board day by day; 
He views the city just in sight, 

And as he sings the password o'er, 
Tis echoed from the gates of light, 

Jesus the same forevermore! 
* 

gome 

How few are the words in our language so dear, 
That come with such force, with sweet accents so clear, 
Come so fraught with meaning, wherever we roam, 
Bringing hope, rest and cheer, as the little word "home." 

Oh, how sweet to the little one, tired of its play, 
When toys cease to charm, playthings all laid away, 
To its tired little vision, no charmer can come, 
So dear as those accents of "mother" and "home." 

More dear to the traveler, on sea or on land, 

On mountain or vale, amid sceneries so grand, 

Are the visions that like the soft zephyr winds come, 

The memories connected with loved ones and "home," 

Ever dear, when the pilgrim pursuing his way, 

On life's rugged journey, full many a day, 

Sees at last in his visions, the city to come, 

And we list while he whispers, "Jesus" and "Home." 

12 



Tor <m InuM 

Willing to wait, yes, willing to wait still longer, 
Through many a pain and weary day; 

Oh, may my faith and love grow stronger, 
While waiting here and watching, I pray. 

True, I am weak, it seems so little doing, 
Sometimes can scarce His praises sing; 

Yet may I not by patient calm enduring, 
Some honor to the Master bring ? 

May I not show on whom for strength I'm leaning? 

To some weak way-worn passer by, 
And thus some sheaves for Him be gleaning, 

E'en now in my infirmity. 

May I not help some loved one on toward heaven ? 

Be this my aim from day to day. 
Guide some loved one to reach the harbor ? 

While waiting on the strand I stay. 

Oh, may my little light be trimmed and burning! 

Though adverse winds should round me roll ; 
Some fainting seaman's heart still cheering, 

While struggling hard 'mid rock and shoal. 



13 



Should He my strength renew, while I am waiting 

To work for Him will not be vain; 
In all I do, His glory seeking, 

Oh, may to live be Christ, to die be gain! 



Cfte Old Clock 

The family clock, that household friend, 
Around it now what memories blend; 
E'er since the sunny days of youth, 
We've found in it a friend in truth, 
Its warm heart beating forth and back, 
And its ceaseless call, tick tack, tick tack. 

As a little child would question sire, 
Its countenance told when to retire; 
And ere the sun was in the skies, 
As faithfully told us when to rise ; 
Anon the day was welcomed back, 
Like watchman's beat, tick tack, tick tack. 

Ever busy, on its little shelf, 
Reckoning the time, seemed like an elf; 

Was it religious, not at all, 

Yet when the church bell loud did call, 
'Twould point the hour and answer back 
With its grave yet quaint, tick tack, tick tack 



14 



The children playing round the hearth, 
Spent many an hour of innocent mirth; 

Twas there they learned to count the time, 
When the old clock was in its prime, 
Listened to the beating forth and back, 
And the merry call, tick tack, tick tack. 

And when the sands of life ran low, 
And we feared that one might have to go, 
Then wafted on the ear from thence, 
In that hush of silence and suspense, 
Time's passing footfall forth and back, 
How mournful then, tick tack, tick tack. 

Through changes all of good or ill, 
The faithful clock kept reckoning still; 

E'en counseling with bride and groom, 
Pointing the time for the parson to come; 
Still ever beating forth and back, 
How cheery then, tick tack, tick tack. 

Now as I sit in the twilight hour, 
And fancy reverts to the days of yore, 

When youthful voices round me played, 
And only their vacant places stayed, 
It's part of its business to welcome them back, 
Still faithfully calling, tick tack, tick tack! 



15 



"Cite mm Robed tftrottg" 

Rev. 7:9-17. 

Oh ! who, who are these, arrayed in snowy white, 

Their garments so pure and clean, 
Hosanah! Hosanah! they cry day and night, 

Hosanah! to our God and King ? 

chorus : 

They have come by the Fountain, 

They are free from taint of sin, 
They have entered and are waving the palm, 

They have kept the cross in view, 

And the watchword ever true, 
They are saved through the blood of the Lamb. 

They have come from every nation, every kindred, every tribe 
They have traveled through afflictions dire, 

For them the narrow way lay through waters deep and wide, 
And for some through the martyr's fire. 

'Twas a warfare all the way, and they carried many a scar, 

Yet the emblems of victory they bear; 
Each one his palm is waving, the warfare now is o'er, 

And their King has wiped away every tear. 



16 



Co my fiusband 

(on our forty-first wedding anniversary) 

Forty-and-one the years have been 

Since our pathways were blended together, 

And side by side we have traveled on, 
Through foul as v/ell as fair weather. 

And those years as they went gliding by, 
How short did they seem in their flight, 

Each day recounting some loving deed done, 
And love made the burden light. 

Cares came apace, as we ran our race, 
With new duties and trials to share, 

But your stronger arms were ever raised 
The heavier burdens to bear. 

Then our pastor's calls to our humble home, 
How many and welcome were they, 

And we ever felt as they passed on, 
Their "God bless" for many a day. 

There were little feet to be guided too, 

In the straight and narrow way; 
Oh, how we watched our foot-prints then, 

That they might not be led astray 



17 



And those that were left to gladden our home, 

(For some have gone on before) 
Having felt, as we, the touch of years, 

Are to manhood and womanhood grown. 

And you too have changed in that lapse of time, 
Those strong arms are more apt to tire, 

Your locks of brown are turned to grey, 
And little ones call you grandsire. 

Still on we go, and as one has said, 

We are on sixty's brighter side, 
Because 'tis the side that is nearer the home, 

Where we are ever to abide. 



Cbe Poor man's Soliloquy 

And what is poor? pray let us define, 
For many opinions may differ from mine; 
A pilgrim, a stranger, does that define poor? 
Or e'n asking for bread from door to door? 

Would we call those rich, who on gold rely? 

And the worth of gold only what it will buy? 

Ah, what would it buy, where streets with it are paved, 

And the gates with precious stones engraved? 



18 



If not what a man has, but what he is, 
Increases his wealth, then I answer this, 
Today one might flaunt as a millionaire, 
Next day be a bankrupt over there. 

For none of these combustible things, 
Are carried away on angels' wings: 
Just what a man is when called to go, 
The rest he must leave for others, we know. 

If 'tis just passed on, then who owns it all ? 

All the wealth of this terrestrial ball : 

All the beautiful things that our eyes behold, 

The valleys and mountains with their mines of gold ? 

Is it not my Father's, am I not His heir? 

If I'm not an alien I will get my share, 

If there's ought worth saving, when the world 's ablaze, 

He'll be my best guardian, and my portion save. 

He has bidden me use, but not abuse, 

All these beautiful gifts that I may choose , 

But, also, to lay up a treasure where 

The moth don't corrupt, and where thieves never are. 

In His will to me He bade me choose, 
Have all my good here, and the other lose; 
Or have my best portion on the other side — 
And my heart echoed quickly; "beyond the tide " 



19 



Remembered 

In searching for dear, old pictures 

On "memory's wall" I found 
A spot on the banks of a river, 

'Twas a soldiers' burying ground. 
Not to see its grandeur and beauty, 

In visions of fancy I hie, 
But a mound where a soldier is sleeping. 

Where the father of rivers roll by, 
He saw his country in peril, 

And ran to her relief, 
Aye now her green sward enfolds him, 

He's resting in peace, asleep. 
No more the bugle shall hail thee, 

No sounding of battle cry, 
Till the last trump sounds the reveille 

To come to roll call on high. 
This little green mound where a soldier 

Is sleeping the years away, 
Is the picture on the wall of memory, 

That in fancy I'm viewing today. 
Yes, ye who scatter the May flowers, 

Lay some on that lonely grave, 
And let the flag of the country 

He died for, over him wave. 

20 



tbe miaow's Son 

Luke 7:11 

A widow— aye, perhaps long years went by 
Since he, the consort of her youth, had passed 
The shining portals. Just one was left 
To cheer her way and share her sorrow too; 
An only son, perchance she saw on his fair brow 
The traces of his father's face, and on him leaned 
For comfort in her now lone widowhood. 

But blinding grief again had reached that home, 
And dark the drapery falls; the funeral pall 
Broods over every thing now dear to her. 
Devoted trends had striven to ease 
Her aching heart, and now had come again 
To pay their last, sad tribute to the dead: 
And they proceed when the last look is o'er 
To take him hence for burial beside his sire. 

With slow and measured tread they passing on 

Approach the city gate, so bowed with grief 

The mourner now scarce hear the passing crowd. 

Perhaps she tries to think when they shall rise, 

Nor dreams the "Resurrection and the Life" 

So near, until compassion, infinite, 

Had called its power "absolute to dry a widow's tears 



21 



Behold majestic sweetness in that word, 
"Weap not !" Yet had He left her there 
Could she, bereft of one she held so dear, 
Have dried those tears? Aye, never did the Master leave 
A work unfinished; nay, e'en then that matchless hand 
Had touched the bier. The bearers stand, 
The whole procession halts; the people gaze 
With wonder on the scene, increasing still, 
As they behold the one whom death hath claimed 
Sit up and speak; when He who conquered death 
In majesty bade him arise. 
Methinks the clay could scare the spirit hold, 
So suddenly her grief is turned to joy 
When from that loving, gracious hand, 
She takes her son. 



Uacant Places 

I was musing in the twilight, the work of day was done, 

My thoughts were speeding westward, e'en to the setting sun; 

I was thinking of the loved ones, so many miles away, 

Of the mountains, vales and rivers, that now between us lay. 

In my musings I was lonely, when a sudden sound I heard, 

There on the lawn before me, I espied a mother bird; 

She was chirping now so wildly, that I soon her sorrow guessed, 

She had told in plaintive accent, that her brood had left the nest. 

22 

LofC. 



I listened to her story, now it seemed to me to say, 

How she'd watched them night and morning, cared for them day 

by day, 
Now their places were left vacant, there in the shady tree, 
Where she'd sung her morning carol, and listened to their glee. 
Still, anxious little mother, tenderly she lingered near, 
While chirping all around her, each one sought his little sphere. 
Then I thought her case, poor birdie, some in sympathy with mine, 
For though some might settle near her, some might seek a sunnier 

clime. 
Then I thought of vacant places, held so dear in memory still, 
Though the'r gone that used to fill them, other places now to fill, 
And we only see their places, as we onward press our way, 
Though in memory they greet us, yes they greet us day by day. 
Oh, we miss their note in music, and we miss them in our glee, 
And when sorrow hovers o'er us, miss their loving sympathy. 
Yet though distance rolls between us, when we sing our songs of love, 
We may hope their blended echoes reach the happy land above. 

Could I tell that mother birdie, could she not her burden bear? 
That there falls not e'en a sparrow, without our Father's care. 
Would it make her burden lighter, as she onward wends her way, 
To know He cares for sparrows, watches o'er them day by day? 
Ah, we know the same He reigneth, near old ocean's ebb and flow, 
Where the pepper waves in beauty, and the Eucalyptus grow; 
And we know that word of promise, standeth yet forever sure, 
That His own are of more value than many sparrows are 



23 



IU Race 

There's a race laid out before us, and at its end a prize 

If we run in patience till we reach the goal, 
To the winner then is given a home beyond the skies, 
Yes, there comes a day of winning bye and bye. 
Oh, the winning day is coming, when in that happy home, 

Our God shall wipe the tears from every eye, 
Where the saints all robed in whiteness are gathering 'round the throne, 
Yes, there's winning, brother, winning bye and bye. 

There are trials and temptations along this narrow way 

There are crosses sometimes heavy to be borne, 
There are losses and privations and many a weary day 
Yet there comes a day of resting bye and bye. 
Oh, the resting day is coming when in that happy home, 

Our God shall wipe the tears from every eye, 
When the saints all robed in whiteness are gathering 'round the throne, 
Yes, there's resting, brother, resting bye and bye. 

To him that overcometh, a crown of life. He'll give, 

And to reign with Him in glory up on high, 
For the crowns of dazzling brightness are where the blessed live, 
Yes, there comes a day of crowning bye and bye. 
Oh, the crowning day is coming, when in that happy home, 

Our God shall wipe the tears from every eye, 
Where the saints all robed in whiteness are gathering 'round the throne, 
Yes, there's crowning, brother, crowning bye and bye 

24 



CDc Grand Review 

When the battle din is over and the warfare is done, 

And the arches of heaven with shouting ring, 
When the last battle's ended, and the last victory won, 

And we march in Grand Review before the King, 

chorus: 
Will you meet me there, my comrades, when we lay the armor down, 

When we ground our arms at Jesus' feet and change cross for crown 
Will we hear the welcome plaudit, "faithful soldier, well done," 

And be welcomed to the presence of the King ? 

Lo! we see among the veterans those who always stood so near, 
As to hear the marching orders when e'er given, 

Those who were so highly favored, the shafts of death to clear, 
Just translated from the battlefield to heaven. 

Still we see the hosts advancing, mighty men though battle-scared, 
Those who bare the "marks of Jesus" all the way, 

Their comrades to encourage, their voice so often heard, 
Bearing up the gospel standard day by day. 

Apostles, prophets, martyrs, see them falling into line, 
And their trophies won for Jesus, too, they bring, 

From every land and nation, lo ! the armies all combine, 
As they march in Grand Review before the King 



25 



Ship of Zion, homeward Bound 

Oh ! Ship ahoy! Say whither bound ? 
While struggling hard 'mid wind and wave, 
Some goodly, far off land hast found, 
Some goodly country o'er the wave. 

CHORUS. 

Yes, we've a goodly land in view, 

A city fair with mansions too, 

Oh, let the joyous notes resound, 

While we are homeward, homeward bound. 

Oh, come with us, we'll do thee good, 
Accept the Master, trust His word; 
Accept the life-boat, offered now, 
Before His foot-stool humbly bow. 
Our glorious leader 's gone before, 
For us a mansion to prepare; 
The "Friend of Sinners" was His name 
Today, as yesterday, the same. 
"The spirit and the bride, say come," 
Whosoever will, there yet is room, 
Echo the invitation round, 
Let him who hears repeat the sound. 
Hoist every sail to catch the gale, 
Who trusts our Leader shall prevail, 
Though waves dash high, and surges roar, 
We hope to gain the home-land shore 

26 



